Dusk brought with it a breeze that whistled through the leaves of the surrounding forest, but Faine could not feel its chill. A full day’s travel left a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, but he could not feel its itch at the back of his neck. Exhaustion slowed his straining muscles, but he felt no hunger, no thirst, no desire for sleep. These were the unfortunate side effects of an excess of magic.

The blue potion Faine had taken early that morning granted him easy access to an outpouring of magic. The sweet elixir flowed through his veins, precipitated in his blood and clouded his mind. Magic welled up inside of him until it seeped out in his sweat and saliva, coating him in the scent of rosemary. Simultaneously malleable and tough, the magic acted as hard leather armour that insulated him from all sensations, internal and external. All day, he had felt as if he had just woken from a long nap, his mind sharp, his body rested. Due to its tricky nature, Faine only used it when he anticipated the use of his magic with little preparation.

Two nights after leaving the village, Faine had set a rabbit trap ten minutes from camp and safely stowed his packs in the low branches of a tree. Over the past few weeks, Faine had improved in carving sticks into equal lengths, and could form the H shape quickly. A rabbit would unknowingly knock over the propped sticks, and ensnare its foot a hidden cord. At length, he would check it to find a rabbit or a hare, exhausted from trying to escape.

After a meal of seasoned potatoes and dried fruit, Faine left to find a brown hare sitting calmly as it waited for divine rescue. Unfortunately for the hare Faine could see examining its own paws by the last fiery rays of sunlight, none would come. He strode through the small clearing, hearing twigs snap quietly, eyes on the fat hare. As he drew close, it caught sight of him and leapt for freedom, forgetting its caught foot. Not wanting it to slip free, Faine lunged for it. His knees kissed the ground roughly, and a potion spilled from his pack and popped open, leaking a caramel scent, but he managed to grab the hare around its middle.

“Huuush,” he whispered, cradling its head to his chest. He climbed to his feet, and froze as he glimpsed a shadow in his peripheral. A deep growl came from directly in front of him. He looked up in time to see an orc with deep green skin, short but deadly tusks, and a hideous grimace. Six and half feet tall, barrel-chested and arms like tree trunks, it towered over him. Faine threw up his hands in defense, but they were full of hare, and did nothing to shield him from the staggering blow the orc delivered to him. Thanks to the blue potion, Faine was unhurt, but he stumbled back. Quickly regaining his wits, he rushed to put the hare down. It began to scream, shrilly and pitifully-and distractingly. The orc ambled towards him, sniffing the air deeply.

Faine was surprised at the encounter. Twenty years ago, this area belonged to the monsters. Then, the demon had come. The high mages had promised it would rid the kingdom of monsters, and, for the most part, they had spoken truthfully. It wasn’t entirely successful, but no one could complain when the kingdom had gone from being nearly overrun to a handful of sightings wandering witches and city guards could handle by themselves. He, himself, had seen only a couple of monsters in his lifetime, but had brewed the potions in due diligence. The orc stopped sniffing, and in confusion, drifted toward Faine, one hand outstretched.

“Stay back!” commanded Faine, putting more distance between them. The orc pulled back, its eyes darting around shiftily, before coming to a sudden realization. Whatever it is enrages him. He growls with increasing desperation, before roaring in anger. The hare falls silent. Faine pulls saliva from the corners of his mouth, and spits at the orc.

“Back!” he spat. The monster reeled back. Its head bobbed while it searched the woods. Faine hit it with another telekinetic blast. It fell to the dirt, stunned. The hare started shrieking again. Faine had a choice. He could run away, back to camp, or he could strike it while it was down. He could use his butcher’s knife, or a spell, but either would take considerable effort. Running away would save energy, but it was a quick run to camp. It wouldn’t take long for the orc to find it. The hare’s screaming was distracting. Faine wished for silence.

The monster surged to its feet, making for the forest line. Assuming it was escaping, Faine backed off. Instead, the orc wrapped its meaty hands around a thick branch of a tree. It heaved its shoulders, and a loud crack resounded through the clearing. Panicking, Faine spat at it again.

“Back!” he spat. The telekinetic blast staggered the orc a little, but the branch cracked again, and fell to the ground. The orc stooped with a gleeful grin, and turned to face Faine.